The Skies were Blue
by Naked-toes
Summary: America/ Male!Reader [Name] is an ace fighter pilot, one of England's finest. Which is why he isn't too pleased when he hears a squadron of American pilots will be living with, working with and fighting with his squad. The squad is lead by the brilliant, young and brash Alfred F Jones, who [Name] quickly develops a hatred for.
1. Prologue

"So you're really sending them there?"

The man looked up from the map sprawled across the table in front of him. It was obvious that the years hadn't been kind to him; the dark circles around his eyes alone paid homage to that. His hair wasn't white by any stretch of the imagination; it was more like an off-grey, as if it had planned to go white at some point but due to war rationing had only been able to achieve this shoddy imitation.

But there was still an edge of dignity about him. You couldn't tell if it was his gaze, or his manner of standing or even just his worn blue uniform, covered in medals. But it was there, like a sort of phantom that haunted the air around him. He looked towards the younger man quizzically, raising an eyebrow, as if he was trying to judge if they were joking or not.

"You sound surprised, Captain", he said, his voice rumbling like the engine of a old and worn tractor, "Is there a problem?"

The Captain looked down, trying to avoid the other man's iron gaze, not wanting to instigate the Air Marshal's infamous steel tongue. While he had no personal experience of the matter, he'd heard enough from the other officers to know to tread carefully. He wasn't young by any stretch of the imagination, but compared to the Marshal he looked positively youthful; his green eyes still burning with fire, only a slight hint of grey starting to defile his brown hair.

"It's just…" he started, before pausing, trying to rethink his statement, "It's just… I don't see why the USAAF even _wants_ to take over Warmwell. It's the only airfield in the county; they're completely exposed to…"

"Captain."

The Captain sighed, knowing the tone in the Marshal's voice. It was one of frustration, a little hint that he was just humouring whoever had been unfortunate to speak with him. It was the kind of tone that summed up how utterly frustrating trying to have a talk with the Colonel was; somewhere within, he still had an idea of himself as a war hero. Granted, he had been one, but that was in a different war and he needed to realise that and hand the beacon on so that he didn't compromise this one.

"Yes, Air Marshal?"

The older man twiddled his newly waxed moustache absent mindedly, like he was trying to concentrate on more important things, which, given what the Captain knew of the operations here, wasn't likely to be completely untrue.

"Captain, you are well aware that we have already promised to give the base over to the Americans, aren't you?"

"Well yes Air Marshal, I…"

The Marshal interrupted, not even seeming to notice the comments of his lower ranked colleague.

"And you are aware, are you not, that we need as much support as we can in the final days of the war. We all know what's being planned, don't we?"

"Yes Mar…"

"So what is your problem with the Americans taking the base at Warmwell?"

The younger man paused, trying to think of a reasonable explanation. The clock on the blank concrete wall ticked loudly, every second feeling like an hour. Maybe it was unreasonable, this opinion of his. But it seemed purely practical to him; Warmwell was, after all, the only base in Dorset, one of the most at risk costal counties. He really couldn't understand why the Americans even wanted it, though if they did it was their right. Still struggling to come up with a reasonable explanation, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"Squadron Leader [Surname] will never approve."

The Marshal looked at the clock, a slight hint of sadness entering his eyes. It seemed utterly out of character; he was a military man, brought up to memorise the one rhetoric that seemed on everyone's lips now; stiff upper lip. But it was undeniably there; even if it was slightly disguised.

"Then he'll just have to get used to it, old boy. He'll just have to get used to it."


	2. Chapter 1

You stared at your Lieutenant, unsure of whether to believe him or not. It felt like a sick joke, a trick played on you by Central Command. It just didn't make any sense, your squad was doing fine; there was no need for the Yankees to be there. It was almost like a slap in the face; a declaration that you weren't worthy, no matter what you had done.

And you had done a lot. Thanks to you, your squadron was now well almost infamous in the south west. Both you and your beloved Bristol Beaufighter had reached almost legendary status. And now all your successes were being ripped from you, as if you were worth almost nothing to the force, your entire squadron being uprooted to make way for the Americans.

They didn't admit that part; the official word was that the two squads would just 'work together' and whatnot. But you could tell that was just a bluff; they were going to replace you with a bunch of inexperienced Yankees, who had probably never seen war before. If the statement was true, that was. Which it obviously wasn't.

"Sir?"

Your attention switched back to the man standing in front of you, shivering, even though his blue uniform should have kept him warm. He was obviously concerned; officers weren't supposed to react this way; they were supposed to go along with the plans, knowing that they were what were best for Britain, disregarding all their personal feelings on the matter. You sighed, your voice filled with frustration.

"So they are here then?"

He blinked, seeming to be confused by your question.

"Yes Sir, they're here now; I thought you knew."

You had known, but you'd pushed it to the back of your mind, hoping that neglecting the thought would protect you from the effects of the change. Which hadn't worked, unfortunately. You sighed again, desperately wanting the conversation to end.

"I'll greet them. Dismissed."

You saluted, more from dogma than an actual desire to do so. The Lieutenant saluted back, before retreating from the room, the sudden lack of people making the room seem even more ramshackle. In a way it was to be expected; you were in a war and had been for nearly five years now, but it still felt uncomfortable soulless.

You'd joined the day the war started, hoping that your experience with aeroplanes would permit you entry to the Royal Air Force. It hadn't gone to plan- you still shuddered every time you thought of your time as a radio operator- but you'd worked hard, not just for King and Country but for yourself as well. You dreaded to think of what would have happened if you didn't sign up to the RAF; you'd probably be either in North Africa or sent halfway around the world to Indochina. At least here you still felt close to home.

You deposited your paperwork in a draw, not caring if it was in the right place or not; you'd sort it out later. Now you were not in the mood. Slamming the draw shut, you took a few strides towards the door, pulling it open violently, your anger showing.

Everything was running as normal outside; the engineers making the last few desperate repairs from last night's raids. Only a few squad members were out, quite an average occurrence, but it felt very different. There was this atmosphere, an atmosphere of tension, disappointment and distrust. The men obviously weren't taking to the idea either.

You heard a loud whistle and turned to see who it was. Your gunner, lounged across a wall, smoking a cigarette, was looking at you expectantly from across the runway. Rolling your eyes, you crossed the now cracked concrete to see what he wanted.

Alex had joined the RAF at the same time as you and the two of you had become almost inseparable. Although you had risen far above him rank wise, he had never seemed bitter about it, still maintaining the same warm attitude he had always had towards you.

"Hey [Name]!" he said, trying to be heard above the sound of welding in the nearby repair shed, "[Name]! Have you heard?"

You leaned against the wall next to him, not caring that it made white marks over your dark blue uniform. You were in charge anyway, so unless you were inspected by a superior officer, which you'd have plenty of warning for anyway, it didn't matter.

"Alex, I'm the bloody Squadron Leader, of course I've heard."

He chuckled, his voice deepened by years of smoking.

"You sound angry, are you?" He quickly carried on, not giving you a chance to answer. "I know what you're going to say, no need to continue. But shouldn't you be off to visit our esteemed Yankee guests?"

You could tell from his tone he was trying to joke, but underneath his calm façade he was angry; undeniably angry. You grimaced, looking away from him.

"I was going to, before you distracted me. I suppose I have to now, don't I."

He placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to consolidate you. You pulled away, knowing you had to find the Americans. You didn't want to, but if you had to live with them for god-knew how many months, you should probably try to break the ice.

It didn't take too long to find them, partly due to the fact the base wasn't very big and partly due to the fact there were only a few places they were likely to be. The mess was packed, it was impossible to take a single step without stepping on somebody's foot. You would never find your fellow Squadron Leader like this.

You were about to ask for him out loud, when you felt a tap on your back. You spun around to find yourself face to face with one of the American pilots, a Flying officer by the looks of things. He was wearing a bomber jacket over his uniform, an act of disservice you would never have allowed your squad to get away with.

His golden blond hair was pulled back, but his fringe still managed to cover parts of his face, a cowlick still refusing to lie down flat. He was wearing glasses, something that confused you; the last you'd heard, men with glasses were barred from the USAAF. But the most noticeable thing about this guy was his smile, childish and unbarred, like he had done something mischievous and was trying to cover up for it.

You hated him almost immediately.


	3. Chapter 2

A few weeks had passed since the Americans had joined your squadron. And during that time, everything had been relatively quiet; almost too quiet, like _they_ were plotting something. It made you feel uneasy, forced your instincts to defence.

Your squad seemed to share the sentiment. Mettler and Saunders in particular, had seemed utterly on edge, waiting for the signal to sound. It wasn't normal; there shouldn't be this long between missions. Unless your, otherwise paranoid sounding, theories were correct; the Americans had been sent to replace you.

You knew it wasn't logical; the yanks were young and inexperienced; they'd never even seen war, let alone had time to get used to it. There was still this naivety about them, especially from that one who had tapped you, Alfred, as you'd learned he was called. You had no idea how he'd even survived training, let alone made it this far. It was true; realistically no hope that they could out perform you.

But there was still this fear at the back of your mind; a fear of becoming obsolete.

Reaching for the tin mug of coffee resting on top of your paperwork, you tried to distract yourself, to find something else to occupy your mind. But it didn't work; even the bitter taste of the 'coffee' couldn't drag you away from your thoughts.

You didn't know how long you sat there; it could have been minutes or it could have been hours. But the thing that you did know was that the thing that dragged you from this half awake state also filled you with relief. It shouldn't have done, but it did.

It was the signal, flickering through the air like electrical sparks around a wire. You dropped your mug, not caring where it fell, just wanting to rush to your plane and get to the air. The excitement running through your veins wasn't a good thing; you knew. But you couldn't help it; you'd been kept on edge for so long and now you just needed to let the tension out.

The time before you slid into the cockpit seemed to flash by. The cabin felt almost comforting, which was very strange if you thought about what had happened to you in there. The cabin was the place where you had first faced the reality of war, the place where you lost your innocence. Though really, the whole country had lost its innocence; everything stripped from the once thriving land of the isles that were your home.

The gentle hum of the engines increased, starting to increase the temperature of the still freezing cabin. It wouldn't do much good though; you knew that from experience; your flight suit was still absolutely vital.

You really didn't know how to describe flying. You loved every moment of it, undeniably. From the rough take-off, that temporarily took away your vision, to gliding over ocean currents, it was almost like a dream. Until the part where you always ended up getting shot at, that was. It felt almost inevitable now, as natural as the change between autumn and winter.

The sun was starting to rise when you started to fly over the seemingly endless English Channel. You knew both squads were there, their signals flooding your radio headset. Had it been any other time, any other point in history, you would have found the day beautiful. But you were too on edge for that; the enemy could come from anywhere and there was no way to tell.

But, even with your defences on alert, you still felt a little twinge of joy enter your heart. You weren't sure why; it was an exceptionally bad time to drift off. But drift off you did; hardly noticing the roar engines behind you. Absolutely everything was blanked out. A dangerous mistake.

The bullets didn't tear the body of your plane, but you could feel them ricochet off the surface, sending shocks through the cabin. You banked to the right, trying to avoid the hail of bullets being fired at you and trying to see where they were coming from.

The German pilot was alone and obviously inexperienced; an older pilot would have waited till they were closer before opening fire. You had been lucky, exceptionally lucky. But the rest of your squad might not be.

You watched as the dark shadow became smaller, before trying to pull your aircraft into his blind spot. He hadn't noticed you so far; maybe luck was on your side today. A few seconds later though, you realised that the German knew a lot more than you had thought. Before you could open fire, his plane skewered to the right and, seeing you were on his tail, he pulled back into a defensive manoeuvre. It was your turn to be taken by surprise; you were forced to bank violently, trying to get him back onto your ring sight.

He hesitated for just a second, but it was enough to give you an advantage. You opened fire, hitting his wing, then waiting for his plane to explode. Which it did, the explosion sending flames across the sky, pushing you off course. You struggled to regain control, before heading back towards where you'd last seen the squad.

You could instantly tell something was wrong; the sky seemed empty, even though you could hear the rattle of bullets in every direction. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw something.

The P-39 falling from the sky, smoke flowing from its wings, couldn't belong to anyone else. It was Alfred. The German aeroplane swooped down from above like a hawk, ready to finish off its prey. Which gave you an opportunity.

You swerved to the side, immediately opening fire. The other pilot wasn't ready for you; your bullets hit the mark straight away. His plane plummeted, leaving you unscathed. The P-39 seemed to have managed to regain control, even if it was still far off course. For now, everything was fine.

You radioed the other pilots, before continuing into the cover of the clouds, heading southwards once more; towards your target.


	4. Chapter 3

The Nissen hut was completely empty now; not even the recently aborted engines making a sound. The smell of fuel was still in the air, but it was less overpowering, less intoxicating than before. It wasn't a familiar experience but it still felt welcoming, giving you a chance to get away from your duties, even just for a minute. You loved your job really, but you couldn't give it absolutely everything; there still needed to be something left for you.

You could hear the footsteps behind you; hesitant, like the person was having second thoughts. You sighed heavily, not wanting your peace to be broken this easily and turned around. What you saw didn't surprise you; it was Alfred, around five paces away. But there was something off about him, even if you couldn't tell exactly what it was. He was looking at the floor, the usual youthful spark gone from his eyes, replaced by worry. It felt very odd- not that you cared or anything. But you didn't have to like him to want to keep tabs on the squads under your command.

"What do you want Alfred", you said, your voice in complete monotone, trying to prove that you didn't care.

He didn't say anything, sighing instead, like he couldn't bring himself to say what he wanted to. Again, you asked.

_"What do you want, Alfred?"_

"I- I just wanted to thank you", he stammered, pushing his fringe slightly back, as if he was trying to distract himself.

"Thank you for what?" you asked, in a moment of genuine confusion. You didn't have any idea of what he could be talking about; you hadn't done anything special for him.

"For- y'know- saving me back there."

So that was what he was talking about. No wonder you didn't think of that; you had just been following your duty, doing what you had to and nothing more. It wasn't anything special at all. You could see his face fall as you told him that; looking for all the world like a lost puppy. He was even more naive than you thought; not knowing the boundaries between the line of duty and an actual compassion. You turned your back to him, expecting him to go, but instead he pulled your face to look at his.

"[N-name], please forgive me for what I'm gonna do."

Then he leaned forward and kissed you.

It took you completely by surprise, giving the other man an opportunity to take full advantage of your open mouth and slide his tongue into your mouth. You tried to push him away, wanting to escape, but you couldn't; he was too strong. He pushed you against the corrugated metal walls, leaving you with no option of escape. He was obviously expecting you to fight back more than you had and, to be honest, so would have you. You didn't know what stopped you from doing so but, in truth, you didn't care. You just wanted him.

It wasn't right, it couldn't be. You'd been told so ever since you were a lad. They couldn't have been lying to you, could they? It was wrong, so wrong. But, in the heat of the moment, you gave in. You could feel him nibbling your bottom lip, still sliding his tongue along it in between bites. The last functioning part of you was filed with worry; what if somebody saw you? What would your squad think? What would happen to you? But all those fears were pushed away as Alfred finally entered your mouth.

You let out a deep moan, but not from choice. Every one of your senses was being overpowered by him; your entire being forced to surrender, reawakening the fears at the back of your mind. He finally pulled away slightly, before you pushed him entirely away from you, bristling with rage.

"W-what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" you hissed, desperately trying to ignore the growing tent in your trousers. His sky blue eyes widened with shock, not understanding your sudden outburst.

"I-I just…" he started, trying to fit together a coherent sentence.

"G-get out of my sight. Just get the fuck out of my sight."

You felt a pang of guilt as you watched Alfred's figure become smaller and smaller. You couldn't let him do this to you; it was wrong, so wrong. A shudder made its way down your spine; from the cold- as you kept telling yourself. No, he hadn't had any effect on you.

None at all.


	5. Chapter 4

You sat on the rough, straw stuffed mattress, across the room from the other men, trying desperately not to seem like you were acting oddly. While the forces had become a lot more accepting recently, you were almost certain that they'd go back to normal once the war was won. And there'd be only one outcome from your superiors finding out, and it wasn't going to be a pretty one.

Why did he have to do this to you? You weren't a 'nancy boy'; you couldn't be. Everything up until that moment had been fine; you had a girl back home, who you'd always thought you'd loved and besides, the possibility had never even crossed your mind. That damned Alfred; he'd ruined everything from the moment he'd entered your life.

It was neither normal nor right; you couldn't, and wouldn't, let yourself be taken over by any feelings you had towards him. You were both men; it was a sin, as you had been told since you were a lad. A perversion, an illness to be cured. No, you couldn't let the infection take hold of you.

Your fingers twirled around the pen, hovering over the stained, paper bound notebook as if it were trying to steal something from the air to write down. There was nothing you wanted to write down that you could; it was just too fierce an emotion, too important, too precarious, to be entrusted to paper.

The squad was your everything and you knew that the discovery of what happened would, realistically, at the very least, have you sent to another division. And you couldn't just abandon them; these people had grown up with you; seen you mature from a naïve child to the fully mature man you now were, just as you'd seen them do the same. There had been some lost along the way, the grief never growing less painful, but it felt like you'd always been together. You were a family. And was that really worth ruining for _this_? This sudden change of heart?

The lumps of straw dug into your legs, not an unfamiliar feeling, but one that still felt completely uncomfortable. You needed to get out, to stretch your legs and to get away from the stale air. The quizzical gazes from across the room seemed to burn holes in your back, but you ignored them as best you could, before slipping out into the night.

It was almost pitch black; the only light source was the stars above. On a cloudy night, there wouldn't even be that, leaving you unable to see more than an arms length in front of you. But you were almost used to the darkness now and you knew it served an important purpose. You shivered; you'd expected your woollen coat to be enough to keep you warm, but the weather was never going to be that kind to you. There was only a slight sound with each stride you made against the concrete airstrip, easily to miss if somebody wasn't listening carefully.

The wind ruffled up your coat; no mean feat given how heavy it was. Fallen leaves covered the ground; you knew their dead forms would be still burning with colour, even if you couldn't see them. The smell of gasoline still filled the air, even if all the vehicles there were tucked away for the night. You wanted to get as far from the base as possible; to escape the binding rules and guidelines of it. To be able to think about your feelings, without having to compromise your duty. You just wanted to escape, even for a moment.

You sank to your knees the moment you entered the wood, curling your body inwardly, pulling your arms in tight; forming a much needed barrier between yourself and the world. You shook slightly; the emotions still not wanting to come out.

These feelings weren't real; it was just a stage, just an illusion. And you would get through it. You had to.

You didn't know how long you sat there, trying simultaneously to let your emotions run free and to suppress them. It couldn't be good for you to feel this way, you knew. But really, you didn't care. The only thing that dragged you from your self-pitying disposition was the crunch of leaves being crushed underfoot.

You straightened your back, not wanting to be seen like this. It would be showing weakness, something you couldn't afford to do; there was no room for weakness now. Everyone was keeping their feelings under caps, not just the people in the military, but every person who lived in your beloved isle; children included. And if children could somehow cope with what they were going through, what excuse did you have not to do the same?

But they didn't seem to notice you, instead walking into the clearing that your tree stood on the edge of. And in that space of time, you managed to catch enough of a glimpse of them to know who it was.

Though really, you shouldn't have been surprised.


	6. Chapter 5

He went to the woods again the next night. He didn't notice you walking up to him, despite the loud crackle the drying leaves made as your feet pressed against them. His bright blue eyes were fixated on the dark sky above, blocking out everything happening around him. The breezes pulled at his hair, almost forming a halo around him, golden even when there was no sun. You knew instantly why he was here; the same reason you were.

Something inside of you softened; you could feel it. No longer denying, no longer lying. You knew you'd probably regret this in the long run, but for now it didn't matter; you would finally give into your instincts.

It was only when you were literally two steps away from him that he noticed your presence. He immediately opened his mouth, wanting to give an excuse, an apology, an explanation. But you didn't give him the chance; you sat down next to him, your weight compressing the forest floor. You looked up at the sky, just as he had until just a minute ago, ignoring the puzzled glanced he was giving you. Eventually, he spoke, his voice barely audible, even in this near silence.

"I-I'm sorr…"

You cut in before he had a chance to finish, wanting to bring the conversation away from the events of earlier.

"You don't need to be."

He stopped, perplexed. This wasn't what he'd been expecting from you; indeed, you had even surprised yourself. Up until a few minutes ago, your tune had been very different. It was illogical, what you were going to do; risky, foolish and reckless. But you were going to do it nevertheless. After all, there was nobody here to see.

You reached over and placed a hand over his. He instinctively tried to pull away, but after he realised what you were doing, he stopped; instead placing his thumb over yours, holding your hands closer.

"Why did you decide to do it?" you asked, trying to keep your voice calm. A flash of confusion entered his face for an instant.

"Y-you mean the kiss?"

"Well no", you retorted, a hint of a sarcasm entering your voice, "I meant poisoning my coffee. What do you think numb nuts?"

"Well I-I…", he stammered, so far from his normal confident tone, "I- I… like you. I know they say it's wrong, but I do."

You clenched his hand tighter, wanting to hold onto him. And then you said something you hadn't even admitted to yourself yet.

"Y'know, I think I like you too, Alfred."

There it was; the one fact that had caused you so much grief over the past few days. Laid bare, it almost seemed reasonable. You knew it couldn't be, but it did. And there was another fact you admitted to yourself in that moment; you wanted Alfred like you'd never wanted anyone before.

His characteristic grin returned to his face; a fact that both annoyed and delighted you. The two of you sat there for a while, enjoying just the sensation of being alone together, something that was unlikely to happen again for a long time; maybe even forever. You could feel Alfred struggle to place his hand on top; trying for dominance. A smile made its way onto you face and you gave in.

You could feel Alfred's head resting on your shoulders, the sound of his breathing filling your ears. He was so close to you but, in a way, still so far.

"Y'know [Name], after this war is over, I'm gonna find a job in some bank or something", he whispered, the sound distorting slightly in your ears, "and I'll earn enough money to buy a little house just outside town, where it can be just the two of us. Nobody else needs to know."

It was an unrealistic promise; you knew that. Sure, his intention was in the right place, but that was too much, too soon. You gently pushed him away from your shoulder.

"You don't need to do that Al; you're still young, you shouldn't commit to something straight away."

"We're all young", he replied, a little frustration entering his voice, "We're pilots; all pilots are young."

"Do you know why they secure pilots so young, Alfred?"

He shook his head.

"Because the younger you are, the easier it is to get you to throw your life away."

Both of you sat in silence for a moment, waiting for Alfred to finish digesting that piece of information. It would be hard for him to take; you knew that; he still seemed taken in by the recruiting speeches of heroism and freedom. And that was what they were; speeches. To be honest; the more you saw of this war, the less you understood. If you were going to do this, this impulsive act of emotion, you wanted to be sure it would last.

He pulled you into his chest, forcing you to rest your head on his shoulders. His hold was firm, insistent, almost protective. There was no way you could have escaped if you'd wanted to.

"At least pilots still have the sky", he said, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.

"Hmm?" You didn't understand any of what he was trying to say.

"The sky is endless, right [Name]?"

You still had no idea where he was trying to go with this conversation.

"What do you mean by endless?"

You nodded, still not understanding his thought process. He pulled you closer, as if he felt like this would be your last moment together and he needed to make as much of it as he could.

"Something that's endless is something that sets you free."


	7. Chapter 6

You pulled away from Alfred's embrace, not wanting to lie motionless in his arms any longer. There was so much more that you wanted. And you knew he'd give it to you, even if it required a little _persuasion_. You ran a hand down his cheek, pulling his face towards yours. He was surprised at your action, you could tell; his entire face flashed with red.

You couldn't wait any longer; the desire inside you was becoming unbearable. Pushing your lips to his, almost seeming desperate, you expected to find some resistance to your sudden actions. There was none; he obviously wanted you as much as you wanted him. You knew it would be a mistake to continue; a life shattering mistake, but your instincts took over.

A tongue slid over your bottom lip, asking, begging even, for entrance. While it wasn't what you had expected, you knew better than to deny the request. He seemed to appreciate it; darting in and out, leaving no part of your mouth unexplored. You let out a deep moan, your usual restraints gone; you no longer cared how public your emotions ran. And besides, you weren't the only one driven to such displays of emotion; the man underneath you, this man who had turned your life upside-down, had torn your identity apart, who had change your life forever, was doing the same.

You couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of glee.

But, even when your lips parted, you still didn't feel satisfied; this might be the last night the two of you had together and you wanted to make the most of it. You pushed him against a nearby tree trunk, ignoring the squeak of surprise he let out. He'd only deny it anyway; he seemed to be really defensive over thing like that, desperate to seem like a hero.

His jacket was already open, making the job of pulling it off easy, even though the way Alfred looked at you felt eerie, his blue eyes almost glowing in the dark. You pulled at the knot on his tie, dragging it from his neck, before undoing the first button on his shirt. He sat there, utterly fixated on you and what you were doing to him. It only served to encourage you; a smirk forming on your face, before you pulled at the rest of the buttons.

"Al?" you whispered, slipping a hand up his now bare torso, "Al? Do you want this?"

You felt a flash of panic in the silence that followed. Did he not want you? Had you gone too far? But all your fears were put to rest by a single gesture; he nodded.

You kissed him again, before making your way across his jaw, his body the undiscovered territory and your mouth the intrepid explorer, before stopping just at the base of his neck. Your smirk grew wider; you now knew where his soft spot was. Another moan erupted from his mouth as you bit down.

You couldn't help noticing his smell; deep and musky, with a few fruity top notes that you couldn't quite place your finger on. But it was there, overpowering, captivating and utterly, utterly masculine. It drove you mad; awakening a primal, animal drive you hadn't even known you possessed. You pulled away for a second and with an aggressive growl, you pushed him back into the trunk of the tree. The force dazed him for a second; just a second, but it was enough time for you to pull his last remaining piece of outwear down, leaving him flushing, stunned and half-naked.

He was obviously enjoying what you were doing to him; there was no doubt about that. You ran a finger down his bare chest, lightly teasing his soft, soft skin, forcing him to let out another one of those deep moans that you enjoyed hearing so much. In fact, you wanted to hear more; to hear him begging, mewling, and screaming out your name in ecstasy. But you couldn't; the others back on the base would hear and then it would be all over.

"[N-name]…_please_…"

Alfred's begging was so brazen, so unabashed and so shameless that you couldn't refuse him. It was something about that tone of voice, something that seemed to scream of yearning, an absolute need.

A need for you.

His final piece of clothing came off; everything of him revealed to you. You knew what he wanted, what you needed to do. But you couldn't help the familiar sense of panic that seemed to rise within you. There was so much to go wrong and you were so inexperienced, so unaccustomed to this sort of thing. You swallowed, pleading for your insecurities to vanish, and took him.

You could tell he was trying to resist the urge to buck into your mouth. His hands tangled themselves in your hair, pulling harder with every of your movements, his nails leaving raw marks on your neck. His beautiful moans were louder now, more frequent; only encouraging you to go faster. It was a new experience, but something about it felt bizarrely familiar, as if you'd unconsciously fantasised about this moment an infinite amount of times.

Which probably wasn't far from the truth.

He was reaching the end of his tether, you could tell; the tension building inside of him must have felt unbearable. You felt the bulge in your trousers grow larger, but kept going with your motions, rubbing his chest with your free hand, waiting for the inevitable. For a second, his panting, his mewling, his moans stopped, to be replaced by a throaty growl, every syllable filled with lust.

You started to taste salt as soon after he finished crying out your name. You pulled away, leaving him flustered and breathless. It wasn't exactly a pleasant taste, far from unbearable, but unpleasant, nevertheless. You swallowed, wanting to extinguish it in the quickest way possible.

You did nothing for a moment or two, wanting to give Alfred a chance to recover slightly. But this was far from the end; there was still so much you wanted. And if this was really to be your only night together, you wanted to make the most of it. You stood up from the forest floor and gestured for Alfred to get up and turn around.

A slight hint of panic crossed his face and you mentally hit yourself for being so presumptuous; you hadn't even considered what you'd do if he didn't want to go this far. The only way you could think to salvage the situation was by apologising.

You didn't.

"You don't have to if you don't want to."

The look of panic didn't leave him and he kept looking down from your face, not wanting to make eye contact, summing up what to do. For a moment, you lost all hope. But then he leaned forward and gave you a peck on the cheek.

"But I do."

He turned around, like you had requested, leaning all his weight on the tree in front of him, spreading his legs wide. He was trembling slightly, but you couldn't tell if it was from fear or just the cold. The latter was justified, after all; the autumn nights weren't exactly kind.

You didn't really know what to do; you had absolutely no experience with things like this. The bulge in your boxers continued to throb; desperately needing attention. You couldn't wait any longer; you fumbled with your belt, attempting to remove your lower layers of clothing. The air suddenly felt freezing; you could tell why Alfred had been shivering. You positioned yourself as carefully as you could, before pushing yourself into him, immediately regretting the action as you felt Alfred writhe in pain beneath you.

Normally you would have stopped then, but the warmth surrounding you was impossible to ignore. He was so tight, so gloriously tight; you unconsciously thrust into him, your entire mind filled with this single animalistic desire. And you weren't the only one being effected like this; you could feel the taller man underneath you shaking violently. The tension building in your stomach was becoming unbearable; you needed to release it somehow, anyhow. Your nails dug into Alfred's shoulders, splitting the delicate soft skin and filling the air with the metallic tang of blood.

An immense purr escaped from your lips; pleasure erupting around your body. Your sight went cloudy for a second, as if there had been a single flash of electric light that your human senses had been unable to properly recognise. You stopped thrusting; wanting to ride out the wave of pleasure that was dragging your body under.

You started to gain your breath back after a while, still continuing to gasp, but managing to fit together a single sentence.

"A-Al…I-I l-love… you…"

You only received a grunt in return, but it was enough to make your sense of glee return.

_Alfred loved you back._


	8. Chapter 7

You awoke back in your bunk, the first few streaks of light starting to make their way through the thin curtains. While you would normally be feeling exhausted, even at this time, but today there was a sense of joy building within you from the moment you opened your eyes. Not surprising, given the previous night's events. You could remember every moment; every moan, every gasp and every whimper vividly; like it was engraved into your mind like pictures on a length of film.

But, much as you'd have liked to stay in bed, fantasising about what had happened, you needed to get up and ready. You stretched, out of habit rather than anything else. The sheets felt itchy against your bare back, almost as if they were trying to persuade you to move out. You kicked the blanket down, before rolling out of bed to the stand where you kept your uniform.

The sun still hadn't fully awoken when you emerged from the squat concrete building that was the barracks. The air was still thick with moisture, the last few drops of dew forming on the unkempt blades of the grass growing from almost every patch of ground available. It wasn't an unusual sight, but today it felt different. Different from the everyday monotony that it normally seemed to signify.

Today it just felt glorious.

You weren't alone out here; the other men were starting to gather and disband to their posts. For a while, you stood out there alone, making sure everything was running smoothly. Besides, you had plenty of time to complete your duties and they weren't exceptionally substantial ones anyway.

Your heart gave another skip of joy as you saw your beloved Alfred leave the crowd, walking directly towards you. But that feeling didn't last long; his face was filled with worry, a characteristic you'd never even have expected him capable of. His sky blue eyes deliberately avoiding your (e/c) ones. There was something wrong, something very wrong.

He neared you, only stopping when he was a single pace away. He swallowed and you knew exactly what he was going to say; the very thing you had always been afraid that somebody would say to you should you ever pursue them. And those words chilled you to the very core.

"[Name]…[Name], I think we need to stop."

You knew he was going to say it, but that didn't stop a lump forming in your throat the moment he did. You wanted to get angry, to ask him why he was doing this- acting like this was what he wanted and then changing his mind at the last minute. It was cruel, utterly cruel. And you wanted t him to know it, even if you had to scream that phrase from the rooftops.

But you didn't say that. You just couldn't bring yourself to.

"Alright", you said, your voice adopting monotone, trying to hide the fact you were affected by what he'd just said. You were made of sterner stuff, of traditional unyieldingness, instructed from birth to maintain that 'stiff upper lip'.

And besides, men didn't cry.

The only thing you could do was to swallow your emotions, to force them to submit. You'd been through so much, this would be nothing. Nothing at all. You didn't even have to look at him anyway; if you could manage to keep to your part of the squad it would be all too easy.

You carried on with your duties, ignoring the glances Alfred was constantly giving you. You didn't need him, didn't need anybody. You were your own man and that was all that mattered. With a mumble, you turned your attention back to the transcripts you were holding. All you needed to do was clarify what these were referring to and it could change the entire outcome of the war.

There was a slight tap on your shoulder and you turned around to find one of the radio operators looking up to you, concern growing in her eyes. You struggled to think of her name- Emma was it? Yes, that was it- Emma Grounds; she'd only arrived recently, fresh out of training.

"I think you should really take a break, Sir."

You looked her up and down as you tried to think of a reply. It was true, you had been working for much longer than was necessary, but that was out of choice; you needed something to distract you.

"I appreciate the concern, Miss Grounds, but I assure you, I am fine to continue."

She smiled slightly, as if she were bemused by the situation.

"As you wish Sir. But please, call me Emma."

You opened your mouth to speak, but became acutely aware of the glare that was boring holes into the back of your head, demanding you not to reply. It was _him, _still wanting to keep you to himself, even if he'd rejected you. You summoned up your friendliest voice and replied, trying to seem as polite as possible, but with every word stabbing _his_ heartone more time.

"In that case Emma, please call me [Name]."


	9. Chapter 8

The Captain picked up one of the loose sheets floating around the Marshal's desk. He didn't mean to pry; far from it! His only intention was to order the place a little, keep everything running properly. It was only on a whim that he started to read what was on the sheet, the crisp paper lying utterly flat in his hands.

'**Dear Air Marshal Warren, **

**The mission plan you proposed last month has been given approval by the Higher Command. However, they have raised concerns that the details of the plan are not fully worked out, making the mission as it stands a large risk."**

The Captain swallowed; he didn't envy any man who was required to follow out the Air Marshal's plans. From the ones he had seen, he guessed this one was an almost suicidal mission; an unnecessary risk for very small gains. The Air Marshal really was an enigma; one would have assumed he'd have learned from the Great War that tactics had changes. And here he was, writing up utterly illogical plans.

'**However, given the operations currently being planned (due to take place in early June), we realise that an advantage in such an area is desperately required."**

He understood a little more now; he still had no idea what the June events were, but from the changing behaviour of those around him, he could guess it was genuinely important. He rolled his shoulders back, feeling uneasily vulnerable like this; the others could walk in at any moment. But he swallowed that feeling back, skimming down the page.

**'We have decided to entrust the mission with the combined squads at Warmwell; Squad Commander [Surname] is the most likely candidate to successfully complete the mission. **

**However, please inform the Commander that the mission is a both a very dangerous and very important one and that it is unlikely, almost impossible, that the entirety of the squad will survive.**

**Air Chief Marshal Portal'**

The Captain dropped the paper back down on the desk, backing away from it, every step taking forever. He glanced towards the window, everything in his view fields, the sun starting to drop below the horizon. He took a deep breath in, before speaking.

"[Surname], I hope to God you know what you're doing."


	10. Chapter 9

You went off on duty again. From what you had heard, it was important; almost vital. You _would_ succeed, even if you did suffer from having _him_ serving as a distraction; you had to. This single mission was probably the most important your squad had ever been faced with; you couldn't let such a insignificant thing as _anger _get in the way.

Besides, he probably felt even worse about it than you; you'd taken extra care to make sure he was watching when you kissed Miss Grounds. Not that you regretted it; there was a streak of cruelty within you that just wanted to see him _suffer, _to watch as everything he could have had was taken by somebody else. The only piece of regret or remorse you felt was for Miss Grounds; it was immoral to use her in such a manner, but your other emotions seemed to run deeper than that, blocking it out from your everyday state of mind.

The plane engines rumbled once more, a sound that was almost as familiar as the sound of your own voice. You found it almost impossible to comprehend a life without your Beaufighter; the sky was such a central part of your life now. A part of your subconscious rebelled against the very though of using _his _words but what they said was true; the sky had set you free.

The ringing in your ears increased as you gained altitude, the cabin becoming colder. The sun was yet to fully rise and, while you knew it would probably warm the air substantially when at full capacity, it was hardly capable of warming the air. Your breath turned to steam in front of your eyes and you pulled on your oxygen mask hastily.

You knew the mission was dangerous. God, did you know. After almost three hours of mission briefing, you'd be damned if you didn't know. And by now, you'd learned never to keep your guard down, even for a second.

You hoped the squad remembered it too. Even_ him_.

You shook yourself eternally, trying to force him from your mind. But it was no use; he kept his prevalence in your thoughts, almost as if he was trying to attempt to get you to come back one last time. It wasn't going to work though; he had been the one to leave you and you weren't going to give him another chance.

The French coast rolled into sight and you snapped back to attention, knowing you were about to enter occupied territory. Most of the land you passed over would once have been rich, fruitful farmland, and was now laid to waste by bombing. Ever so often, you found a patch of ground that was either bare, or covered in rubble, a stark reminder of what you were really doing here.

You could hear the engines from a mile off. They were so obviously alien, so very different from those of your squad. You sent the signal for the squad to split; it would be harder to shoot you all down this way. They immediately disbursed; leaving all the attention on you. You had probably _slightly_ miscalculated your technique, you noted to yourself. _Just slightly._

Even if you hadn't done that though, the German pilot would still after you; you could tell. It was you he followed, from a distance initially, but eventually catching up to you so quickly, you were caught off guard. He was almost on your tail, spilling bullets into the air beside you. You thanked God he was such a bad shot; had he been as good at shooting as flying, you'd have been dead by now.

You dived, panic rising within you. There was nothing else that seemed like it would work, though in hindsight, you wished you hadn't done so. Now you were trapped between an enemy plane and the ground beneath you. You didn't know what to do, so you did what your instincts told you to; you dived almost vertically towards the ground.

The 'G's' were almost unbearable; patches of black covering your sight, you ears feeling like they would burst. The German was directly on your tail; you had one shot and one shot only. It was a mad idea; it should be impossible. But, as you neared the ground, your courage grew and grew.

At the very last moment, you jerked the stick upwards, driving your plane once more towards the heavens. Your tail didn't notice what you were doing until it was too late. You didn't hang around to wait for the explosion though; instead rising as high into the heavens as you could, wanting to get as far from the scene as you could.

Another miscalculation.

Another German pilot was waiting for you and you knew this one wasn't going to fall for the same trick. You spun towards him, wanting to keep him where you could see him, even though you knew he was still just as dangerous. He turned his plane too and you started to circle each other, each of you daring the other to attack, but refusing to do so yourself. You tightened the circle; _just a little more and you'd have him_.

But it didn't work out that way; a shower of bullets hit him from below; his entire plane bursting with flames, smoke engulfing the air around it, falling to the ground. You would have been content with describing it as pure luck, when another airplane emerged from the smoke and your radio flickered into life, the words still not quite clear.

"You really should be more careful, [Name]", said a voice that was entirely familiar, even when obscured by radio static, "Y'know, I'm not always gonna be around to save you."

You narrowed your eyes, even though you knew Alfred couldn't see the gesture, and snapped back a reply, not wanting him to get the better of you.

"You do realise I'm the one more likely to be saving you, right?"

There was no reply for a while, the only sound the constant static. But then, Alfred spoke again.

"[Name], [Name], I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?" you asked, even though you knew the answer. He sighed, even that small sound being picked up by the radio transmitter.

But something grabbed your attention, something very urgent. There was a growing shadow above Alfred's P-39, a shadow that could only belong to one thing; the plane from earlier. You rose further into the sky, ignoring the sounds coming from your radio.

"[Name], I'm sorry for leaving you like I did…"

You let loose, a hail of bullets ripping through the canopy, the entire body erupting. But it didn't stop falling, directly headed for the one person you couldn't let it hit. There was only one thing that you could do.

"And [Name], I love you."

You whispered back one sentence before your plane collided with the German one.

"Al, I love you too."

The last thing you felt was hitting the enemy plane with force, before your plane exploded in midair.


	11. Epilogue

Alfred walked towards the middle of the field, the blue of the skies reflecting in his eyes. Every step was cautious, as though he didn't want to be seen, his arms cradling a bouquet of white poppies possessively. He stopped, checked there was nobody around to see what he was doing, before speaking. The wind was strong, pushing his hair into his face, muffling his words a little.

"[Name], how're things going? We won, y'know, we _won. _Course, not everyone made it; Alex, you remember Alex? Well, he didn't make it back. Got shot down just as we were reaching home shores."

He paused, searching for what to say next; the only sound the trees rustling. It was chilly, despite the summer sun, forcing Al to shiver. He swallowed and continued to speak.

"It's different without you, [Name]. Kinda lonely. I mean, there's still lots of us, but it just doesn't feel the same."

A slight smile slid onto his face, widening every second.

"I met your brother last week. Nice guy; talks a lot though. Met your dad too; scary dude, he's got one _mahoosive_ moustache. I see where you get the whole 'stiff upper lip' thing from."

He chuckled, as if he'd just thought of a great joke he wanted to share. But he stayed silent for a while; almost like he was waiting for a response. Even though he knew there wouldn't be one.

"You missed the medal ceremony too. And they even gave you one! George Medal, apparently. No idea what it is, but I've been told it's good."

He bent down and placed the flowers on the ground, kneeling on the neatly cut grass.

"Y'know [Name], the more I've seen of this war, the less I've understood it. But there's one thing it's made me understand."

He pushed them against the newly engraved stone cross, sparkling white in the sunlight. To each side were rows of identical ones, the only difference being the name written into the stone. It was almost like a garden; peaceful and well kept. For now.

"[Name], I love you."

He stood up and turned away, muttering one last thing as he left, as if he didn't want to admit to it, even though it was now so much of his soul.

"[Name], I love you and I always will."

After Alfred left, the entire space became devoid of human life, filled only with row upon row of white tombstones, like a regiment, maintaining positions even in death. The grass was neatly trimmed, kept in order too. The only thing that wasn't this controlled was the wildflowers springing up in the beds of soil surrounding the markers. That and the simple carvings in the stones themselves.

_'Squadron Leader [Name] [Surname]_

_A good man,_

_A good friend'_


End file.
